One of my favourite authors is Cecelia Ahern.
She wrote a book about where the lost things go – lost things, lost people, lost memories. In the book, a woman is somewhat obsessed with finding things – because she knows they have to go *somewhere* – and ends up being lost herself.
She finds a place called here. It’s where missing people are creating lives, creating a world and generally getting on with life after they’ve been lost.
One thing that stuck with me was a scene in the book where a boy hears laughter – his own – because his mom has forgotten what his laugh sounds like – so it ended up lost.
I am grateful beyond words for my wedding video and the video montage I have – Mark’s voice and his laugh are there. I will never forget what he sounded like.
But I’m starting to forget what he felt like. What his touch felt like. How it felt to be held by him. How it felt to be touched by him. How it felt to be kissed by him.
I’m starting to forget that.
I don’t remember what it was like to lay beside him in bed and snuggle. I don’t remember what it was like when he’d curve his body against mine. I don’t remember how he would touch me.
And I want to. I want to remember those things. I want to remember how he FELT.
I still remember the last touches he gave me – him stroking my hair as I cried on that last night. Holding his hands that had gotten so papery thin and delicate. The last time I crawled into bed with him – after he had died and I just wanted to lay next to him one. last. time.
But I the memories of the life, the joy, the touches, the kisses…. those are all fading away…
I think that hurts almost as much as him dying did.